The light and warmth of the sun become stronger, broken clouds slowing melting to the sky.
I feel warmth on my face and energy in my eyes and a rise in my heart.
It is no insult upon the earth to proclaim some of her natural spaces more wondrous than others. But it is a crime upon ourselves to be less open and less expecting of encountering wonder in those places we deem of less impact.
This is the earth preserved, small spaces we have retained from ourselves. And yet we forget that she allows us to dwell here, laughing I am sure at our proclamations of sovereignty.
Sometimes rediscovering a part of ourselves is like discovering something new.
It may have been prettier in bloom, but it is interesting now.
Autumn reveals what there is to be seen beneath the decoration.
In this, the bare cone of a long stemmed native can again wear the glory of its fullness.
When I find myself in the wilds again I am home – home in the world and home in me. My struggle for meaning fades; no longer do I seek to impose order, or ache to figure out. I feel myself hushed by the comfort that I am but a tiny speck in the landscape of time and earth – part of everything moving in an eternal cycle.
How do I draw the still waves – my hand is better with words to convey what my eyes witness. How do I draw the still sky – reaching beyond me, returning me to myself.
The temperature report signals discomfort, but I am going. It is only 30 degrees; it will be much colder soon. I want to make friends with discomfort. I want to feel the glory of the biting cold. I want to let it wash over me and sting my skin and not resist.
Sky – because it contains everything.